Dole and his wife, I learned later, had gone away for
the day on a visit, and had left the boy alone to do the chores--among
other things to feed the hogs at noon; but as Ike had tugged at the
heavy trapdoor to raise it, he had slipped and fallen down through the
hole.

The four gaunt, savage old hogs that were in the pen were hungry and
fierce. Even a grown person would have been in danger from the beasts.
The pen, too, was knee-deep in soft muck and was as dark as a dungeon.
In his efforts to escape the hogs, the boy had wallowed round in the
muck. The hole was out of his reach, and the sty was strongly planked up
to the barn floor on all sides.

At last he had got hold of a dirty piece of broken board; backing into
one corner of the pen, he had tried, as the hogs came "barking" up to
him, to defend himself by striking them on their noses. They had bitten
his arms and almost torn his clothes off him.

The little fellow had been in the pen for almost two hours, and plainly
could not hold out much longer. Prompt action was necessary.

At first I was at a loss to know how to reach him. I was afraid of those
hogs myself, and did not dare to climb down into the pen. I could see
their ugly little eyes gleaming in the dark, as they roared up at me. At
last I hit upon a plan. I threw the turnips down to them; then I got an
axe from the woodshed, and hurried round by way of the cart door to the
cellar. While the hogs were ravenously devouring the turnips, I chopped
a hole in the side of the pen, through which I pulled out little Ike. He
was a sorry sight. His thin little arms were bleeding where the hogs had
bitten him, and he was so dirty that I could hardly recognize him. When
I attempted to lead him out of the cellar, he tottered and fell
repeatedly.

At last I got him round to the house door--only to find it locked. Dole
and his wife had locked up the house and left little Ike's dinner--a
piece of corn bread and some cheese--in a tin pail on the doorstep; the
cat had already eaten most of it. I had intended to take him indoors and
wash him, for he was in a wretched condition. Finally I put him on
Dole's wheelbarrow, which I found by the door of the shed, and wheeled
him to the nearest neighbors, the Frosts, who lived about a quarter of a
mile away. Mrs. Frost had long been indignant as to the way the Doles
were treating the boy; she gladly took him in and cared for him, while I
hurried on with the eyestone.

I reach